Whisper in the Wind
by Phanfan925
Summary: Historical!Hetalia Canada decides to recount his past and some of his life's secrets, starting at the beginning. He weaves a tale of happy years spent with his Papa Francis before being whisked away by a frightening Englishman who initially terrifies him, but whom he eventually grows to care for, as well as meeting the twin brother he never thought he had.
1. Prolouge

**Summary: When a woman confronts Canada about his life, he decides to recount to her his past and to trust her with some of his life's secrets, starting at the beginning... He weaves a tale of being passed from country to country; happy years spent with his Papa Francis before being whisked away by a frightening Englishman who initially terrifies him, but whom he eventually grows to care for, as well as meeting the annoying but good-hearted twin brother he never thought he had.**

**(More or less goes through the entirety of Canada's history until modern times, but mostly the most important/historically prominent events. I'm not superhuman, and can't cover ever single detail, but I will do my best to get the general gist of things across with major points.)**

**Rating: T**

**Pairings: Some historical Ukraine/Canada. Not the main focus, but there all the same.**

**AN: A foreword note, everyone! I'm not dropping TPoW. The next chapter is being written right now. I've just been having some writer's block, and decided to walk away from it for a bit to work on something else. Just a little break, I promise.**

**On another note, the first chapter of this will be written in a limited/character-specific 3rd person point of view, and the rest will be written in 1st person story-telling/retrospective PoV. Canada is the narrator. This is his story.**

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

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><p>Jessica Muller's neighbor intrigued her.<p>

Mathew Williams was a kind and gentlemanly young bachelor, not bad looking either. Blond hair that was long, but not obnoxiously so. Blue eyes framed in glasses that had a purple hue to them, like a sky bathed in sunset.

She didn't know what his career was, or how exactly he made his living, though her husband told her that he'd heard he worked in government and politics. Probably only a minor role, because Jessica had never heard his name before. It seemed like he was always absent, packing up and going on trips to do who-knows-what. It must've been related to his job in some way.

When she'd first moved onto this street, she hadn't thought much of him. Yes, he'd made a good impression, but he hadn't exactly stood out. He'd dropped by to give her a welcoming gift like a good neighbor ought to. Some maple syrup, treats for her children. He'd seemed nice enough. Quiet, though. Yes, Matthew Williams, her neighbor, was very quiet. That was indisputable.

Sometimes it felt like she hardly noticed him. The blond-haired man just seemed to blend into the background, not on her mind but there nonetheless. He seemed to be the backbone of the entire neighborhood, silent, supportive, and sturdy. She'd see him mowing the lawn, shovelling driveways, or petting that large, strange-looking white dog of his. The children would come running into the house, excitedly telling her how "Mr. Williams" had helped them build a snowman in his front yard. The children adored him.

Jessica could remember one day in January. Her youngest son, Todd, had slipped on some ice in the midst of his play-making and foolery with his older siblings. The boy had burst into tears, clutching his bottom and his knee, displaying the typical behavior of children after such incidents. Williams had come to Todd before Jessica could, picked him up and told him that it was okay, "everyone slipped during the winter once in a while". Then he'd sent Todd on his way, who'd promptly returned to his mother, boasting of his injury and toughness.

Then there was that time in June, when Sarah had scuffed her knee. In a similar fashion, Williams had appeared almost out of nowhere, swooping into action to clean the cut and pop on a Band-Aid. Jessica hadn't even known Sarah had hurt herself, and although it was only a minor scratch, she appreciated the gesture.

But there was a sort of sadness about Matthew Williams. Deeply buried, hard to pick up on. It was only after her first year of living on this street that Jessica even picked up on it. And it seemed to get worse. It got to the point that Jessica, barely more than an acquaintance to him, was starting to get concerned.

So one day, Jessica Muller asked to speak with him. She was a therapist by trade, and although it was extremely awkward, offered the man a private session. God knew he needed it. Williams had declined politely the first, but when the subject was brought up for the second time, he finally conceded. A talk would do him good.

And that was how Jessica Muller found herself in Matthew William's home, asking him to open up about his life. Her husband, Andrew, was home from work and watching the kids. He knew where she was, what she was trying to do for Matthew, and he approved. Williams and Andrew were friends.

"Open up. Start from the beginning," she said, crossing her legs and adjusting her skirt on the loveseat. Matthew was on the coach across from her, looking out the large, open front window and the wintery view it showed. It was December, and if there weren't any sudden drops in temperature, it looked like they would have a beautiful white Christmas this year.

He sighed, staring broodingly out the window, his breath making fog appear on the glass. For a moment he was silent, then he turned to stare at her with his purple eyes wary and shielded.

"...You can keep a secret, can't you Jessica? Can you take an oath to keep all that you may hear from me locked in your heart, never to be released at any time? Even until death?" his serious tone frightened Jessica, but after a minute's deliberation, she nodded fervently.

"I promise," she whispered.

Matthew's gaze immediately softened, but there was still a distant kind of look to his eyes, a strange mix of melancholy and reminiscing... as if he was recollecting memories both painful and pleasant.

"...We rarely... trust humans with... such things," he murmured to himself, so quiet that Jessica had to strain to hear him. His words and manner confused her. Matthew didn't seem to be aware he was speaking aloud. He spoke of humans as if the term didn't apply to him, and something inside Jessica seemed to agree with this... believing that it was possible. For some reason, it seemed to fit.

"We don't even interact with them that much," he added, musing aloud. "Well, we do... they are connected to us after all... but we still keep our distance mentally, hiding away our true thoughts... Once Arthur told me that he lived many years in his pirating days on a pirate ship with his own crew composed of normal people, which he got rather close to and fond of... I always loved his stories about sailing on the sea, looking for adventure with his crew..."

Now Jessica was thoroughly bemused. Arthur? Who was he? Pirating days? But the golden age of piracy was hundreds of years ago...? Her scattered thoughts ricocheted throughout her head, causing Jessica to shake her head and give Matthew a blank look. After a second, he looked up apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I was rambling wasn't I?" he said in sheepish realization, rubbing the back of his neck. "I haven't done that in ages, but I guess I was just thinking about the past. Anyways, on to the story... That is, if you're ready for it." Suddenly the young man was serious again, his purple-blue eyes turning icy and piercing her face, probing and boring into her very soul.

Jessica nodded eagerly. "I am," she said, finally speaking again. "You don't need to worry about protecting me, and I promise to keep it all to myself, cross my heart." The spoken promise was sincere.

Matthew smiled, the brief bright flash of his teeth causing Jessica's knees to tremble and wobble just a tiny bit.

"Alright then. I'm warning you, though, it's a long tale... It starts with the snow..."

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**This first chapter is really short, and really isn't even a chapter at all. It's a prologue. Next chap we delve into some actual history. Are you ready for the ride? I am! I'm so excited!**

**You don't really need to worry about Jessica Muller. She's flat and unimportant, and won't appear again until the very end of the fic.**

**Please Review!**


	2. Who

**Who**

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><p><strong>1000 AD<strong>

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><p><em>Who am I?<em>

_Was I born? If so, where is the mother who bore me? Where is the vessel that sheltered me with her body?_

_Did I come into being by some other mystical power? Was I constructed by the Great-Spirit-Creator himself? Am I of "his" design? Bred from the very Earth, Air and Snow? What is the secret of my existence?_

These are my first thoughts, or the first that I can remember. It's been so many years... They are mighty thoughts for a child. Great contemplations that would make the most self-accomplished philosopher or great-thinker quaver. To this day, I have not been able to answer these inner questions.

_**What** am I?_

I do not allow such confusions and curiosities to torment me. I am convinced I rose out of the very ground, a ghost doomed to wander the hills and wilderness for all eternity. For I truly am a ghost. There is no better noun to describe me, both then and now. The People of the land have no name for me, just as_ I_ have no name for me. I am a ghost to them, see-through, insubstantial. The pale spirit child that harmlessly plays with the local children, whispers at night, runs through the trees like a fading wisp, and watches the fires.

I like The People. I love The People. They are MY people. I want to protect them, to shelter them, but I am but a welp. I know not the things of men, or the ways of the world. One day, I will learn, and I will learn that not all is good in the world. There is evil, and there is evil in me. I am not exempt from the evil that perpetrates everything, from great nations and governments to the very air that fills our lungs. It cannot be contained.

I live alone. Briefly there will be flashes of contact with The People, or the animals... but that aside, I am alone. Bitterly, and yet blissfully, alone.

When I do interact with The People, my favourite thing to do is listen to the stories. The stories they tell are fantastic, exciting. They make my life whole with their weaving of words and great legends. Sedna of the Sea, the great giantess who rules the oceans and provides for the hungry when winter's chill touches the land. The divine woman, the first human, and the turtle who held her up out of the sea's deadly embrace. The two brothers, Glooskap and Malsum. The sister sun, and her brother moon, endlessly quarreling and chasing each other in a lustful cycle, reuniting during eclipses. The three sisters, corn, squash, and beans, who grow best when planted together. Napi, Old Man, the Grandfather, the Great Spirit, the creator of all. The Thunder Bird. The Raven. Kluskap, Nukumi, Netawansum, Ni'kanaptekewi'skw... All great tales... but my favourite stories have to be those of Nanook.

Nanook. Nanuk. The king of the arctic, the master of all bears and hunters. His coat is white, his legs swift, his nose sensitive, and he is mighty and strong. The greatest of all hunters. The white bear of the north. He is most deserving of respect. We pray to him to bless the hunt, so that it may be successful.

Sadly, none of the legends explain my existence. I not only don't know who or what I am, I also do not know my purpose. Do I _have _a purpose?

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><p><strong>**

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><p>One day I was out and about. Wandering, as I usually did. There wasn't much else to do, and I loved to explore. There is almost nothing better for a boy my age than to feel the wind hitting your face, knowing you can freely saunter about to your heart's content. It's simply a matter of picking a random direction on a whim, and taking it. You follow the wind like The People of the plains follow the buffalo. When you have that level of primal freedom, it's hardly an issue to deal with chapped lips, insects, or even a temporary lack of food. Food always comes to the most patient and quiet of hunters, and this certainly applies to me.<p>

On that same day, I came upon something strange. Collapsed some few metres away from me, was a small mass of soft white fur. What looked like a bundle of snow-white pelts. I knew what it was immediately.

_Nanook._

An ice bear. A baby, if it's size was anything to go by. _Nanertak._ The ice flows are far away. How did he get here?

The question was, was it still alive? It certainly didn't look that way from where I was standing. Since it was so deathly still, I chanced getting closer to get a better look.

"_Peace, brother,_" I reassured it in the most local tongue, circling around it cautiously to be sure this wasn't too hazardous. Even if by some miracle it wasn't dead, it probably couldn't understand me anyway. Speaking to it was a gamble. It would either soothe the animal, or drive it into a feral panic.

The white bear stirred, the ear closest to me flicking and twisting, zeroing in on my voice. A small smile fitted itself on my face. So, it _was _alive after all... But far from its home. Far from its family. Beyond survival, without help.

I knelt down next to it. Small and starving, it most likely couldn't hurt me if it tried. But then, there was the other side of it. Animals (and by extension, people) could get especially violent when desperate. My tiny hands gently felt across its side, moving across each rib that jutted out. It hadn't eaten for many, many days.

In that moment, I had to make a decision. Kill it, and put it out of it's misery, as well as taking any meat he might offer (which probably wasn't going to be much) OR spare him, and nurse him back to health by exhausting my own hard-earned resources, only for him to possibly turn on me later.

He peaked open his large round eyes of pitch-black, staring up at me and shaking with the mere exertion of breathing. My heart softened. It'd probably be best to just end his suffering now... but... something in me just couldn't. He was different from the other animals, and not just because he was one of Nanooks' race. There was something in that innocent, hungry-driven, despairing gaze that screamed intelligence and a plea for help. It was a plea I could not refuse.

The bear looked to be far old enough to be weaned. Meat would do the trick. I had with me in my small, pelt-woven sack, some meat and supplies for the short journey. One can never venture out unprepared, is the general rule of this land. I retrieved this same meat now, preserved and dried pemmican that had a lot of calories and nourishment (especially with the added berries ground into it), but was not ideal food for a raw-meat eating bear cub. This was better than nothing, though, and beggars can't be choosers.

Offering him the strips of pemmican, I held out the meat directly to his mouth, foolishly unafraid of snapping jaws. He lifted up his head with painful effort, sniffing at the unfamiliar meat with a salivating mouth. Poor thing. Life was hard and rough, and only the strongest survived. Even Nanook wasn't exempt from this hard truth.

With only a few more seconds of delay, the bear cub snatched away the meat with flashing teeth, weakly gulping it down with hardly a pause for breath or chewing. I gave him all the food I had with me, and he ravenously accepted it. When it'd all been devoured, the bear cub licked its chops and looked up at me, eagerly smelling my hands, as if asking for more.

"I'm afraid you ate it all, nanertak, _little bear_," I squeaked, tentatively patting its head. He seemed trusting enough, and willing to be tamed. When I stood up to walk away, the white cub snuffled and stumbled to his feet, coming after me. It seemed like I had little choice but for him to come along, and I was fine with that, for now.

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><p><strong>**

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><p>Seasons turned like the eagle flies on the wind, and the bear had not yet left my side. Strangely enough, he hadn't grown any either. Ever since we had met, he'd become frozen in time or something. And more than that, the more time we spent together, the smarter he seemed to get. When I spoke aloud to him, sometimes I could swear that he understood, and would respond appropriately.<p>

We went travelling, just for the thrill of it. Finding new things everyday. There was always more land to traverse, more tribes to visit, more games to play. In the bright-light hours of day we'd walk, gather, and scavenge. He was extremely lazy, and hardly much of a hunter. I guess he saw me as his new mother, and therefore expected me to provide for him. When night came we'd cuddle up in dens, piles of leaves, or the canopies of tree-tops for safety, me snuggling into his soft fur for warmth. I grew less and less afraid of the possibility of him trying to eat me in my sleep, especially since he was still as small as ever.

One day, I said:

"You need a name. Everyone needs a name, and I can't just call you _nanertak_, little bear, can I? I can't call you Nanook, either. You're not a master hunter, it wouldn't be fitting."

Like the child that I was, I pretty much blurted out the first thing that came to mind. It didn't have any meaning, didn't make any sense, it just sounded right to me, and it just came out.

"Kumajiro!" I beamed. A nice sounding name.

"Who are you?"

My mouth fell open, hanging by its hinges. My purple eyes widened until they bulged out of my skull. My mind was overcome by mind-numbing shock. ...Did he just... talk?

"Who are you?" he repeated.

It was undeniable, especially the second time. Remarkably I could comprehend him with ease. He'd been given the gift of language and understanding! He must've somehow learned by watching and listening to me talk! Clever, clever boy!

"Clever Kuma!" I praised him, absolutely delighted. Inwardly I thanked the Creator for this gift. He must've blessed him with the power of human speech and communication. Truly, I was no longer as alone as I once was.

Exasperated that I had not as of yet answered his question, Kumajiro asked once again, "Who are you?"

I faltered. I now knew what he wanted to know, but I could not answer. I didn't know _how _to answer. He had a name, but I had none. He'd been christened with a designation, but I couldn't say the same for myself.

"Who are you?"

"...I don't know."

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><p><strong>**

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><p>Strange moving islands appeared on the sea, landing on the beach. They looked like the canoes and boats The People built, but larger, longer, and taller. Also, they weren't made out of birch bark. Their bows towered up high, and large membranes of thin pelts billowed from the wind, pulling them forward across the waters.<p>

Even stranger men jumped off and came ashore. They looked different, wore different clothes, and even _smelled _different. I didn't really like them, already with a first impression, and I'm not one to make big judgements until I meet someone face-to-face. They just gave me a bit of bad feeling. I hid away from them, convinced they couldn't see me. I was wrong.

Most of them DID ignore me, save for one of them. He was different, he _felt _different. There was just something about him... something relatable. His hair was light blond, kind of like mine, but short and straight. A weird cross thing was in his hair, which I found rather odd. His eyes were blue, and dull... lifeless. Stoic and almost emotionless. To have them directed at me sent shivers along my spine.

"_Heisann._"

The man's greeting was unintelligible to me. I cowered with a growling Kuma behind a boulder. He was scary...

"_Nóregr,_" he said slowly, pointing to himself, and then directing his hand to me. "_Vinland._"

Vinland? Was that my name? It sounded so... unfamiliar. Hostile. Like a stranger. It could not be my name, but that was what the man seemed to want to call me. Who was I to know what my name was or wasn't? Maybe 'Vinland', as coarse as it sounded, WAS my name. I sure as hell hoped not, though.

Nóregr or whatever his name was attempted to approach me, but Kumasama and I scampered off. I didn't want to be alone anymore, and the man SEEMED alright and polite enough, but I still didn't want to stick around. As much as it would be nice to finally have a new friend, something inside me rejected him. I would need a lot of warming up to do with these new arrivals...

Thankfully, these men, who I later learned were called "Vikings", left rather quickly. They didn't stay for very long, and for various reasons. The relations between the "conquering" newcomers and The People were less than pleasant and friendly, and for good reason. If you were to ask me, though, I personally thought it was the cold that did them in. The winter was long, dark, and cold... Oh so very cold... Colder even than Nóregr's empty eyes.

I watched them leave, and felt no remorse. But once again, I was alone... and I didn't know who I was.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**Yes, that was Norway. Vikings were the first European explorers to discover the land that is now called North America, and Canada specifically. They called it "Vinland".**

**Nanook-Polar Bear (Inuit)**

**Nanertak-Little Bear, Polar Bear Cub (Inuit)**

**I wish I could include all the legends of the First Nations, but there really are just too many to list, let along to go into detail about. I tried to throw in a decent selection. My personal favourite is the Inuit one about the sister and the brother who became the sun and the moon. I'd definitely recommend reading that one, it's on the internet. Very morbidly interesting but disturbing.**

**Going skiing tomorrow. Yay! :'D**

**Please please Review! And thanks to all who previously reviewed! You guys are awesome! *heart***


	3. Strangers

**Strangers**

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><p><strong>1202<strong>

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><p>Life goes on. The People hunt, and some even farm. Food is not always abundant, but Kumajam and I get by. Like The People, we never waste anything; not one morsel of meat, not one single part of the carcass that was so painstakingly retrieved for our use. We find a use for everything, and for what we cannot keep or take along, we leave near the villages and camps of The People. If not us, then <em>they<em> will always find better use for it than we will.

Kumazoro and I have grown quite close, though he does not know my name. I can't get mad at him for it, since I honestly don't really know what I should be called either. It gets annoying from time to time, though, hearing him insistently prod me for my name from sunup to sundown. It is also a barrier between us, something that separates us as equals. The bear, the speaking _beast_ has a name, (albeit one that is hard to remember), but the boy who cares for him does not. The inequality makes a bit of a rift between us. A rift of resentment, at least on my part.

"Who are you?"

I don't bother to answer anymore. I just hum and pet him behind the ears so he forgets to ask for a little while. Blessed silence. It's worth it.

The bear has become more than just my friend, companion, and animal free-loader. He has ascended to my protector, when the situation calls for that role. Despite being a seemingly weak little child, I do just fine taking care of myself on my own, but one day the little bear truly proved his worth.

I was picking berries in one of my favourite groves. The berries always flourish here, and there's always more than enough to go around in this particular spot. I'll end up picking loads upon loads of the precious, juicy little treasures, stuffing them in my mouth and staining my face with their sweet juices. Such a sweet treat. I often get company, or competition for this spot. Birds and bears want to get in on the action, but we make a compromise, and just pick and eat together in peace, leaving one another to their own section of the bushes. One day, that unspoken agreement between us was broken.

There was a male bear not a few metres away from me, minding his own business as we respectively gorged ourselves on the plump red tidbits of deliciousness. It was a feast of flavour, and Kumaberry was joining me on my right side. But then, from my left, came the brown grizzly. Apparently, just berries wouldn't satisfy him today. Winter, and the call of hibernation was coming, and he was in desperate need of fresh meat. I would be the source of that sustenance, if things had gone his way.

Some may call me foolish for staying too close to such an enormous and potentially dangerous animal, and allowing him to stray so close to me. They would probably be right. Perhaps I _was_ foolish, but I'd never had reason to fear before. For the most part, all animals, even the apex predators, seemed to... respect me. They easily tolerated me, at least. While bucks and does would flee from any other man, they would not do the same for me. The wolves greeted me like an old friend, (though didn't extend Kuma the same courtesy) and I would play with their pups. Sure, I was still cautious. Animals can be unpredictable at times, and you never know when their patience will wear thin and snap. But for the most part, we trusted each other. It almost felt like I was just as connected to them as I was to the land and The People. Not as much, but still. The connection was still there, I am convinced of it.

I should've known what was coming next. I was small, and presumed I wouldn't be seen as a decent-sized meal anyway. It'd been a tough year. The bear must've been starving to be so bold. While it lumbered closer, drool dripping and dribbling from its black lips, I just automatically assumed it was looking for a fresher, more abundant patch of the berries to feast upon. I was wrong, obviously.

A massive, powerful paw of brown fur and sharp, unsheathed claws came towards me like lightning strikes the earth. It was too fast for me to react, even if I could. I was frozen, paralysed in fear and uncomprehending shock.

_SMACK!_

The incoming wall of muscle, bone, and claw slashed into my face, knocking the air out of me and sending my tiny body flying like a comet. I felt wetness on my lower jaw. My vision was tinged red and flashed white at the impact. My head went blank, going into some kind of surprised seizure at the devastating blow it'd been dealt without warning.

There was no time to recover. No time to move, no time to get on my feet, and bears, in contrast, are really quite fast. Unfortunately for me...

Blearily looking up with tears of stunned pain, I could see slobbering and sharp teeth baring down on me. Hot, foul breath hit my face and ruffled my hair. In only a short moment they would be at my throat or torso, mauling me to bits. I prepared myself for an end. No child, even one as technically old as me, should be faced with that realisation: that they are about to be eaten alive. But I was different. I'd grown up in a hostile environment of kill-or-be-killed, and I knew with absolute, bleak certainty what would come next. And there was nothing I could do but close my eyes and wait. I knew I wouldn't have to wait long.

Soft but menacing roaring and growls, a blur of white to my right, and suddenly the shadow above me was gone. I peaked open an eye, trembling despite myself. I couldn't see very well, but I thought I saw Kuma fighting off the grizzly, or at least it looked that way. He stood there, defiant, over my helpless form. A flimsy but firm barrier between me and death. For some reason, the size difference between the two bears seemed less to me, but that could've just been my winded head and eyes playing tricks on me. As a result of some miracle, the male grizzly retreated without much resistance.

A wet nose nudged my neck and head, gently prompting me to move or give some indication that I was alright. Kumajune snuffled near my ear, licking it and causing me to squirm at the unpleasant sensation.

"M'okay... K-kumahiro..." Wincing, I forced my arms to lift me up to all fours, and then to gradually transition to an upright position on my knees.

When I'd recovered a bit more, praising came next, though at first it was more like unbelieving acknowledgement and coming to grips of what had just happened. "You saved my life."

"Who?"

"YOU. You saved me. I could've been eaten." Who knew if I really would've died. Something told me that death didn't apply to me the same way it did to regular people (evidenced by how extended my childhood was). But I DID know that Kuma had saved me from an unpleasant fate, nonetheless. He put his life on the line for me, without fear for his own safety. A tribute, paying back the debt for me saving his life all those years ago at our first official meeting.

"Who? Who are you?"

With a trembling bottom lip I darted forward and gathered him up in my arms, sniffling loudly. Eventually, small, keening wails began to vibrate out of my open mouth. I'd j-just... been so _**afraid. **_Insanely afraid. The fear had practically stolen my body and taken it over. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been so scared like that... it wasn't an experience or a situation I wanted to recreate any time soon. I clutched him like he was a safe-guard, my safe-place... my only comfort in an empty place. After a time, as I showed no signs of calming down any time soon, I felt his tongue slid rhythmically over my skin. Gliding smoothly over my cheeks to lap away the tears.

It went on like that for a while; Kumaroro licking and sniffing me while I cried without thought or regard. There was no one to see, anyway. No one but my friend. It was a personal moment, just us, and I didn't really want it to end. But end it did, like all things. Life moves on.

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><p><strong>1497<strong>

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><p>It was early summer when strangers came to my shores again. Their giant canoe-island-things were different than the last unwelcome visitors', but similar all the same. The visitors themselves were also different.<p>

I didn't learn of the man's name until far, far later.

John Cabot.

Giovanni Caboto if you prefer his real, Italian name. Apparently the English didn't like foreign names. He sailed under the Britons, an Italian hired by the King to explore and find new sea routes and unknown lands. ...And then he found me instead. I DID classify as an "unknown land", I suppose, at least to them.

The excited, strange men on the vessel were deeply entranced by one thing... Not me, not even the land, but the fish. Cod. My waters were extremely populated with cod fish. Shoals so thick that the men could simply drop down a bucket and pull up the precious resource in their dozens. I could hear their yells from my spot where I watched. I observed their amazed cries as the fish even delayed the movement of their strange boat.

"_Pesce! Pesce! Mio dio! Sorprendente!"_

"What's the big deal?" I curiously whispered to Kumajiro from on land.

"It's just fish. It's like they've never seen a group of them before. Isn't there fish where these guys come from?"

What I didn't know was that _no_, there was not. Yes, there was fish, but not in overwhelming numbers such as these. Over-fishing in Europe had declined their fish populations drastically. Who was I to know that eventually... the same would happen to me. Intense opening of fishing industry in my waters was on the horizon, though I didn't know it yet. How COULD I know? In any case, I had worse problems...

The men landed on my shores, and did something strange that I could not seem to grasp the concept of. They put something in the ground... a pole, with a thin, colourful pelt on it's top that moved prettily in the wind. I had a feeling that the pelt-thing meant something, especially with the purposeful way they planted it into the earth.

I was being claimed. For England.

Sure, it was a flimsy claim, but an attempt of claiming nonetheless. This still escaped me. It completely flew over my head. To me, it was just some pretty material with an odd design, held over the ground by a tall rod of wood. How could something like this be so important or symbolic?

These men didn't quite scare me as much as the other strangers from long ago. They still gave me an uneasy feeling, but seemed innocent and jovial enough. I approached the man who obviously seemed to be in charge. John Cabot. He had hair on his chin, a beard and a mustache, and he spoke a strange tongue that I could not grasp. After a few failed attempts at trying to communicate, we simply gave up the matter entirely. The man was intrigued by me, an endearing child, seemingly of his race, running around in this new land of "endless fish".

I pointed at the large island that had brought them here, wanting to know what it was called. He grasped my meaning immediately and answered.

"_Nave. Or ship, if you prefer. You like, little bambino?"_

Most of that was unintelligible, but I caught "ship". Ship seemed to be important. So... the thing was called a "ship", then. It was good to finally know what those things were called.

"S-Ship?" I repeated uncertainly, stumbling over the word and probably mangling it on my first try. The man was encouraging, though.

_"Sì, yes, smart thing you are! Ship! This ship is called "Matthew". Took us all the way from Bristol, it did."_

_Matthew? _I picked the other word out easily. It just seemed to stand out. So... the ship had a specific name to it, then? I was a little offended, to be honest. Even a senseless hunk of wood had a given name, but I still didn't. Matthew was a nice name, though... It had an interesting ring to it, not like all the other common names of The People from my home.

_Matthew._

I liked it.

"Matthew!" I squeaked, unexplainably gleeful for some reason, before bounding away back to the cover of the treeline, much to the man's astonishment and bemusement.

After that little encounter, I vanished quite thoroughly off the face of the land with no further interaction. I'm quite sure he thought he'd imagined me. I never saw him again, and felt relief at that. Still, he'd _seemed_ pleasant...

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><p><strong>1500-1534<strong>

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><p>More strangers could be visible on the horizon, but few put their feet on land. Some did, though, and I managed to get cautious closer looks. With each new "ship" that came, my anxiety rose, bit by bit. There was always long breaks, many years in between visits, but I couldn't help but feel like they kept on getting more and more frequent. Paranoia mounted.<p>

Summer, once again, and another group of men came ashore and planted another thin-pelt-pole-thing. It all felt very déjà vu. This one had a different design... just as colourful though, if not more so.

It was the flag that symbolised a claim for France. Of course, I couldn't know... So young, so naïve to these new men and their ways...

These new men spoke another language, a pretty one, from what I could hear. Smooth and graceful, but a little too flashy and impractical for my tastes. The one in charge, the "captain", I was told at a later date, was named Jacques. Jacques Cartier.

But there was another individual with him that caught my eye... He wasn't directly in a position of authority, I could tell, and yet there was a sort of mutual respect that they all shared for him. Blond hair that was long, to his shoulder, and curly. It kinda reminded me of MY hair. Sometimes he tied it up in a ponytail, and I liked it that way. It made ME want to find something to tie my hair back with. He had some faint stubble on his chin that I found kind of funny and ridiculous looking. His eyes were blue and kind, full of adventure, but also... sadness... A deep sadness that was being drowned away in adventure and distraction. I don't know why I was drawn to him, but it was the same kind of attraction I'd felt for Nóregr. Like we shared something in common...

But he was still a stranger. They were ALL, strangers. Intruders, really. Intruders that had no idea how to live here without dying their first winter. And there was no way I would help _him_, or ANY of them... right?

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**"John Cabot"/Giovanni Caboto, sailed to the east coast of Canada in the ship "Matthew", claimed it for Great Britain, and returned to King Henry with fantastical tall (but really true) tales about the "infinite supply" of cod in the waters. This of course wasn't REALLY true, there's a crisis of hardly any cod in the Atlantic now... Yay.**

**Jacques Cartier claimed the area for France years afterward. He stayed longer, and we'll learn more about the details and significance of his stay next chapter!**

**Yes that was France at the end. Yay, Francis!**

**Thanks to all those who reviewed, love you~! *lesmooche* And please, keep reviewing! Reviews keep me going! NowIhavetoworkonThePriceofWisdom.**


	4. Names

**Names**

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><p><strong>1534<strong>

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><p>The men went back on their ship and travelled around, probing the shores and landmass as if they were trying to find a way around it. No such luck. One did not simply travel through me that easily. I was more than a mere cluster of islands, as they were soon to discover.<p>

Since their ship was so swift on the sea, I was unable to keep up, and could watch them no longer after that. I watched it disappear from view with Kuma, and thought that perhaps that was the end of it. But that one man, the one with the longer blond hair and blue eyes. He'd captivated me.

With the group now gone, Kumaleper and I went on our way. I had made plans earlier today to visit one of The People's villages, and the strange men's appearance had disrupted my journey. _I have lost time to make up for now, so I'd better get a move on. No more distractions. No hairy men in ships. _My mind began to wander as I walked. _...I wonder if that ship is called Matthew too? ...Probably not. Forget about it. _

But I would soon see these men again.

They stayed, and had some interactions with The People, which I watched from afar. Some of these interactions were friendly, pleasant even, though tentative. An exchange of gifts, a brief trade. Others were more hostile... I'd rather not dwell on them. Two sons of the _Iroquois _were taken back to whatever foul land these strangers had come from, perhaps as a show.

Despite my anxiety, I was sure that they would leave after a while. But first, I had an opportunity to meet the man I'd been so fascinated by before.

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><p>Sitting in a tree, I heard him coming. Trampling through the undergrowth like a big oaf or giant, not knowing any better. Grown ups think they're so smart, but sometimes they do the dumbest things. To make matters worse, the man was calling out something in his unfamiliar, flaunty tongue.<p>

_"__Où êtes-vous? P__etit enfant? Je sais que vous êtes ici_..." (1)

That bumbling buffoon was practically about to blunder inside a black bear's den. A mother's. Two cubs were inside, as I'd seen them earlier this day. In fact, the reason I'd chosen this tree as my perch in the first place was to watch them, because baby bears are always so entertaining when they play and trundle around. Except Kuma. Kuma was boring.

Bears are unpredictable. I had no idea if the mother bear would charge, are use the man's projected words as a warning and move her cubs away. Since this was her den, her home, I was betting that she'd likely stand her ground and try to defend it from any intruders. Something had to be done before this person got any closer, and possibly suffered an injury.

"_Lukwé!_" I hissed, stealthily sliding down the tree's trunk. The man stopped and stared at me in a mixture of surprise and... triumph? "_You are going the wrong way, danger. This way~"_

Frowning with confusion, the man took my lead anyway. Though my words were impossible for him to comprehend, they'd succeeded in snatching and seizing his attention, at least, and most importantly alerting him to something being wrong.

With frequent glances behind me to be sure he was following, I trundled along ahead of him. The man was quiet besides some soft humming and whistling, which I found both peculiar and entertaining. On occasion I heard him trying to speak to me, but I ignored him and pressed forward faster than he could putter after me, with only a flash of my face, clothing, of hair to guide him. Since I couldn't understand him anyway, I saw no point in trying to converse with him. Who was this strange person? And where did he come from?

Eventually I led him to a village. I knew his group must be nearby, as they'd been visiting this very village not long ago, and I knew this because I saw them earlier. The tall and imposing man came to my side and I shied away from him, but not before he could open his mouth and say something.

_"Comment vous appelez-vous_?" (2)

...I had no idea what he'd just asked. No idea at all. Absolutely nothing. It had to have been a question, I could infer that much, I think, just from the tone and lilting of his words. Maybe he was trying to ask where he was? Or what this place was? He wasn't a very smart thing, was he? Stupid adults...

"_Kan. Aah. Ta._" I sounded out slowly, gesturing to the small settlement before him.

"Kanata." It meant village. "_Welcome to our village_."

_"Canada? Est-ce votre nom?" _(3)

What was he blathering about now? And he was pronouncing it all wrong...

"Kaaannnnuh. AH. TA."

"_Oui! Canada! Un nom merveilleuse._" (4)

_...No no no. I give up. I don't know what he's saying! _

With a blank stare at him, I turned on my heel and began to meander away. As interesting as this person was, I couldn't be bothered with him right now. But suddenly I felt a hard, but surprisingly gentle hand grip my smaller shoulder and hold me in place, bringing me to a halt. I squeaked, startled, and began struggling and writhing, trying to slip away.

Then, the owner of the hand bent down and turned me to face him, kneeling in front of me. Of course, it was the same person I'd helped earlier, I hadn't suspected any less. His blue eyes, gentle and comforting, made me stop my striving for freedom to instead just stand there, stunned and still at the warmth that was there. He brought a finger to my chest and gently poked it, uttering "_Canada_", before putting the same finger against his own person.

"_France. Francis,_" he said, pointing to himself.

...Francis. That must be his name, then. But what was with the continued use of "Canada"? My child-like brain fought for an answer, one that came quickly. ...He must think that THAT was MY name. But, it wasn't! This was a misunderstanding. ...And yet, who was to say that "Canada" WASN'T my name? I had been mostly nameless for so long now, and if the only alternative was the mangled mispronunciation of "small settlement" or "village", I would gladly take that above anonymity.

Canada.

...Sure, he could call me that if he so wished.

_...Canada..._

* * *

><p><strong>**

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><p>I spent some time with Francis before he could leave on that ship of his, and I found myself keening for him whenever the thought of him leaving even crossed my mind. And yet I knew that soon he must go. His men were visibly preparing for some sort of voyage, so the moment was coming soon. We passed the time together with him showing me the wonders and words of that weird language of his, and I grew less and less shy the more I listened to him speak, regardless of whether of not I could understand him.<p>

"_Fleur_." With a flourish of his hand he gestured to a delicate yellow flower.

"Fleeuuurrr. Fleur." I laughed aloud at how funny it sounded. "FLEUR!"

Clapping his hands in delight, Francis exclaimed, "_Oui! Merveilleux_, _bon travail!_" (5)

Next he plucked up some grass. "_Herbe_."

And so on. This is how it went, and I picked up words quickly. Still, I had no REAL grasp of the language yet. Just the odd word here or there under my belt. When Francis pointed to his vessel, I beat him to it, proud to already know the answer to this one and eager to impress him with my knowledge.

"Ship!"

"_Non non. Navire."_

I frowned, shoulders slumping in disappointment at my failure. B-but, that other guy had said it was called a "ship"... Must be a different language, of course. So, "navire" it was, then.

The time came for Francis to leave, and though I begged him in every tongue I knew for him to stay, he eventually did go. I was confused, and hurt... He'd seemed so nice. Why'd he have to go? Couldn't he have stayed here? I would've made him a nice hut to stay in, and we would've watched the stars and sat under the trees. I could've travelled with him to the interior plains and mountains, and shown him around. Maybe we would have even caught a glimpse of the Northern Lights, dancing in the heavens. But it was not to be.

Sniffling, I held Kunizira close to me as I watched their ship pull away and vanish. This was the first time I regretted seeing a ship disappear. I didn't necessarily miss the strangers, but I had taken a liking to this Francis in particular. I wanted Francis. I'd had a taste of friendship, companionship, caring, and kindness, and I was reluctant to see that float away on the tides. Plus, he'd given me a name, someone no one else in this world had bothered to do.

"It's just us again, Kuma..." I sighed, not daring to sob for Francis and the strangers. It's not as if I'd known a thing about Francis. We spoke in entirely different ways! Was I _that _desperate to not be lonely? And yet, I _wanted _to get to know Francis better, but it appeared I'd missed out on my chance...

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><p><strong>1535-1536<strong>

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><p>Whittling away at some wood with a make-shift knife carved from some sharp stone, I sat in silence. Kuhajira was gnawing on some caribou carrion not far off, and a squirrel twittered away above both of our heads. I'd quickly adjusted to being without Francis' brief company again, and no longer moped excessively at the loss of my new acquaintance, maybe friend.<p>

"Who are you?" mumbled Kuma through a mouthful of meat.

"...Call me Canada." Finally, I at least had SOMETHING to answer and placate the bear with. I didn't know if it was necessarily my name yet, but I liked it, and it was better than not having a name at all. Maybe now Kuma would stop asking me who I was now...

"Who?"

No such luck...

Kumajamjar abruptly dropped the chunks of carrion he'd been chomping down on, emptying his mouth to growl menacingly. Pausing in my wood-shaving and carving, I put down the primitive knife and stood up, inching and edging towards Kuma, who was in turn shifting closer to me. I prayed it was just some random traveller or animal, but Kuma seemed really nervous and skittish. Hopefully it was just a false-alarm, an overreaction...

Something started to shift and rustle in the bushes and I gulped, swallowing air and saliva down my parched throat. I should not have let go of my knife... That could've been a weapon, my one line of defence. How could I have been so idiotic? I should've been thinking better... Maybe if I was fast, I could dart back over and retrieve the fallen tool before-

All of the sudden, something- or rather someONE emerged from the site of where the ominous and approaching sounds had been emanating. The shape of the visitor was most definitely that of a human. When the face came into view, I experienced a myriad of emotions, starting with a gasp of astonishment. I blinked in disbelief, and then beamed, bolting over to give him a bear-hug.

"You came back!" I shrieked in delight over his happy chortles. Francis had returned, it was undeniable that it was him. The same tousled and curled pale hair, those bright and deep blue eyes, and that laugh... I would always love that laugh.

Not understanding me, Francis just patted my back and lifted me up. I giggled and hugged his neck, squeezing it tight and resting my head against his shoulder. And I knew then that no matter how many times this strange person would leave, he would most certainly come back. He didn't need to say it to me or to reassure me in any way. I just _knew_, somewhere, somehow, in my heart, that I need not fear about whether I would see him again. Francis was special, and more importantly, he was my friend.

"_Bonjo-oour __Francis_," I managed to say in greeting. I didn't know much, but I did know how to say 'hello' and more importantly, how to say his name. I couldn't see his face, but I felt his arms tighten around me, engulfing me in their warmth.

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><p><strong>1541-1542<strong>

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><p>French. "<em>Francais". <em>

That is the name of the language of Francis, my Papa. I learned what it was called exactly three days ago, after Papa returned for another visit.

Papa. It meant father, I think, and either way I felt that it suited Francis, and it made him very happy whenever I called him that. Papa was easier than Francis, anyways, so I was more than happy to oblige. I liked the sound of it, too. He was becoming more of a father to me everyday, more of a "papa".

Country. "_Pays". _That was what I am, or what Papa says I am, anyways. That's what WE are. Not a human, not a 'citizen', but a country. He also said that I'm not exactly one yet by some standards, but I will be one day. He also calls me his _'colonie'_, which I have yet to grasp, or _'nouvelle-moi', _which means "new me", I think. New France is what he wants me to be. A new him.

French came hard at first. But I was bright, and full of life, and most importantly; I was eager to learn. Words flew into my head just as quick as they came chattering back out in fluent sentences, and my child-like mind was a fertile nesting place for all that my Papa ever said to me. I cherished all his words, no matter what they meant or what he may be talking about, be it a comment on the weather or a sweet lullaby. I treasured it all, every moment, and never once took any of it for granted. Ever.

I taught my Papa things too. It was a mutual relationship of a back-and-forth exchange of information. Not only did I teach him some words of The People, but I also taught him tricks to survive better here. How to find berries that helped with scurvy. How to make pemmican, which preserved well for long journeys and didn't taste half-bad either. How to be more efficiently sheltered from the cold, come the night.

_Charlesbourg-Royal_. A new, French settlement. My first one. Jacques Cartier- the man my Papa travelled with- founded it. I didn't know how to feel about the occasion... glad that this probably meant my Papa would be visiting more often, that's for sure, but also a little worried about it. I didn't know how The People would react. Most of their interactions thus far had been more-or-less friendly with the strangers, and I just hoped the new people wouldn't push their boundaries or anything.

One thing I knew for sure: things were changing. For good or for worse, I didn't know, but either way I was pleased and content with my Papa's presence.

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><p><strong>1576<strong>

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><p>Francis' visits were scarce, but I made do with the memories. Something chilled my blood though... Another, different group of people came to my east coast recently. They 'claimed' me, as I knew now what they were trying to do from watching and from experience.<p>

_-I didn't know it then, but it was for England again.-_

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><p><strong>1598<strong>

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><p>Years came and went. At this point, I was actually getting quite good at French. Practice makes perfect, I suppose, and Francis was gentle in his guidance, refusing to drill the words into my skull and giving me plenty of time to adjust and catch on by my own time.<p>

One day, my Papa said to me: "You need a human name."

"I... do?" I was getting so used to being called "Canada" by him, that I had never considered having another title. Francis had two names, though: France and Francis. It must be right that I have at least two as well.

"Of course you do. Every nation needs one. It's essential, for a number of reasons, and sometimes... it's even more personal than your real, official name."

"Well... _sans doute_. What shall it be?"

"Oh no Canada. I will not name it for you. This is something you need to decide for yourself. Pick any name. Any name at all. Whatever your little, full heart fancies. And take as much time as you need. Some wait years and make it a life-long quest before-"

"Matthew."

It just came to me. The ship I'd seen all those years ago, and the name it'd carried. For some reason, it was my deepest wish to bear that name as well.

"..._Quoi?_"

"Matthew. I like Matthew."

"B-but that's an English name!" Francis protested. I didn't quite know what "English" was yet, but I knew that it must be something bad from the way Francis vehemently reacted to it. Bad or not, I wanted this name. I didn't know why, but it just sounded so appealing to my ears.

"So? You SAID any name I want," I pointed out accusingly.

"But I didn't expect you to go for an ENGLISH name of all things!" Whined Francis, looking like he was on the verge of weeping. My Papa could often be overdramatic... He really was getting worked up about this... Surely anything "English" couldn't be ALL that bad, right?

"Please Papa?" I pleaded with endearing purple eyes. Even at a young age, I knew how to pull all his strings, perfectly. Even now I could see his concentration wavering.

"...Oh all right. But I INSIST on it being converted to 'Matthieu'. That is my compromise." With a short sniff he crossed his arms, and I amusedly took all this in. Matthieu. Matthew. There was no difference in my mind, and no contrast to my ears.

"...But that sounds the same. It doesn't matter-"

"It matters to ME."

And so, it came to fruition that my name would be Matthieu. These were the start of the days where I would never be happier. But these days of joviality would one day end, and it would never truly come back; at least, not like it'd once been, full of innocence and light. And my Papa, who was the source of this light, like my own personal sun that would never waver and never go out.

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><p><strong>Lukwé-Oneida (IroquoisHaudenosaunee)** ** for "Man"**

**(1) Where are you? Little child? I know you're here...**

**(2) What is your name?**

**(3) Canada? Is that your name?**

**(4) Yes! Canada! A wonderful name.**

**(5) Yes! Wonderful, good job.**

**If any French speakers happen to read this, don't hesitate to PM me with corrections because I could certainly use the help~**

**I tried to go light on the history this time and focus instead on Matt's interactions with Francis. But Jacques Cartier visited Canada a total of three times. There were other visitors as well, some of them English. In 1598 La Roche's colony was established on Sable Island, and m'pretty sure it failed. Excuse any minor inaccuracies in any chapters, I try my best! ;w;**

**Canada actually got it's name from the First Nation word "Kanata". The French explorers mistook the Natives, and thought they were referring to the land as a whole. FUN FACT.**

**Thanks to all those who reviewed! Please, keep it up! You guys make my day whole 3**


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